


taste the heat as it eats me

by Dysfunctional (GingerHoran)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: California, Friendship, Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerHoran/pseuds/Dysfunctional
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall are digging deep under the skin of California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taste the heat as it eats me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> okay then. I started this a while ago, came across as an idea from loads of different sources. Not really turned out as I had hoped; but when does it ever?  
> Anyways... unbeta'd ... so if you find any mistakes they are all mine and please tell me.

 

Niall sort of hates the way that Harry is looking at him at the moment, but he can't be angry about it, not really, Harry's always looking. Harry is always there, guiding him across sun bleached roads at midnight when he's feeling high and the stars are shattered across the sky; because Harry wants to see the waves skid over the tide during the night, compare its azure blues to its midnight ink. Niall doesn't complain when they eventually leave and find a hole in the wall diner that serves peach cobbler and cream stuff they never had back home, or even when he's immersed so thoughtfully into that dessert to manage to ignore the way Harry still looks at him dazedly in the dark light.

Niall can never decide which Harry he hates more; the Harry that takes him to a beach bar where you can taste the salt from the ocean and gets him drunk off too many vodka shots without letting him hit some waves first, or the Harry that shoves him awake with a hangover so they can make it down to the beach before dawn to maybe catch some sun before the girls in bikinis and sun shot tourists all riot over.   
  
Niall is bleary eyed and his head is thumping so hard he wants to crawl beneath the tacky Tahiti drink stand on the side of the beach with its wicker chairs and hula girls and just die. But Harry's not letting him, he folds his hands into his sufficiently larger ones and sits cross legged on the mildly damp, mildly warm sand. Niall likes the sky this way, let's his head totter back a little to look up as the thrumming subsides and the nausea knocks through his stomach to the other side. Likes the way the sky is dappled with soft shimmery light, and it's not bright like a crayola crayon on white paper but like the soft pastel of summers after long winters before; the incoming sun on the horizon, the moment before the harshness sets in. 

He likes dawn.  
  
Harry laughs loudly when a boy falls down when trying to catch a wave, hits it too hard as he paddles forward. Niall can't say anything, he didn't come here to catch waves; he came here for the sun, the sea, the salt. Everything combined, or maybe it was because Harry talked about California with a light shining in his eyes that Niall wanted to delve into when they were sitting in the backyard of Harry's house at a barbecue; everyone else was drunk or eating but Harry was talking in soft tones about dreams and aspirations and California.   
  
Niall was intrigued.   
  
'Wanna catch a wave?' Harry's asking voice slightly sharper than before, and Niall nods turning to see the smile light up Harry's face that's golden after the rays of sun, the little indentations in the sides of his face the only familiarity with what Niall remembers back home. Harry grabs his elbow as the run across the warming sand, both carrying second hand boards beneath their arms and first hand grins across their mouths.   
  
Harry actually tries to catch a few waves, hitting them in the middle as to get the most pull and laughing loud like sunny summer bursting through rain clouds whenever he's thrown into the water. Niall doesn't even bother, knows he can't surf for shit, just sits atop the board hair damp against the nape of his neck and eyes squinted as the sun just tips above the line of the ocean and the background comes to life. The too blue water shimmering like metallic, warm and wet against his knees, his hands palming the surface. 

*

Harry had to set ground rules before they came. Niall remembers him packing his suitcase and folding everything precisely into the case, reminding Niall of the mother he would leave behind and the ironing he would forget about in the future. He said while sipping from a can of Pepsi that they were going to stick together and stay together, and another load of jumbled up words that Niall couldn't comprehend because the word _together_ seemed to reverberate around his brain. Harry talks too much but actually says _very little_ , mostly a series of bunched up words because his brain is working too fast for his mind to keep up. Niall usually just brushes them off like sand on his swim shorts; but let’s Harry thinks he is listening when he really isn't. He thinks Harry knows this.   
  
Another thing that Niall couldn't quite break down into simpler steps for himself is that Harry was adamant that they stayed together, like a pinkie promise in the playground. Niall couldn't figure it out because there was never a time when he really left Harry, it was always Harry who left him and fell in love with a guy he met in the dirty corner of a bar and had constant heart eyes for weeks until he wasn't text back and came to the realisation that it was just a fuck. Niall's not like that, he rarely falls in love because now and then he thinks he is already in love.   
  
In love with the way Harry absorbs California with his eyes wide shut and his mouth wide open as they lie on the beach getting sand in places where sand should never be. The way Harry gets high in the dingy hole in the wall opposite Santa Monica, the way his eyes get so impossibly wide and so impossibly green it feels like Niall's smoking the pot of heaven and Harry is a single shard of bright evergreen growing up through the fine grains of sand that they walk across every day. And maybe he is in love but he can't deny that he hasn't heard Harry wank in the shower a few times and Niall's name come out like a choked groan, can't obscure the fact that after a few coronas they might lick into each other's mouth with a reverence of want that burns through Harry's warm thighs as he pushes Niall back onto his bed. They usually fall asleep at that point, hot like California has buried deep into their skin and the sun has dug into their bones only to rip through the marrow in rays of glowing light. Niall remembers the first kiss, in its awkward movements and hushed breath.

Harry had cornered Niall and Niall’s breath had shuck out of him like a gasping when you drown in the deep-sea and can't surface, eyes dark with something untranslatable to this day and Niall's heart lurched in his chest like a heart attack. And sometimes when Harry's asleep next to him, smiling in his sleep like he's drunk off the sun seeping in through the lace curtains; Niall thinks about that first kiss, and the second and third and the many kisses stolen in the darks of a bar, haze of a high or rushing of water. 

*

Harry asks himself what he's doing when he's leaving Niall in their shared shack, sheet covering his thin hips and sitting on his lower navel where there's a sliver of skin with a trail of hair, and Harry wants to wake him up by tugging on it with his teeth; but instead he's heading out to that diner that sits on the opening to the beach and makes the best blueberry pancakes and waffles Harry's eaten, because they don't have that stuff in England.

They hibernate in places, never stay too long to call it living or home, they move about too quickly for that. Going to Venice beach, El Matador and then Hermosa and then who knows, or cares, next. But Niall always wakes up best to the smell of good food intensified in the warm air, finds it refreshing because everything starts to smell the same in California after a while, he's noticed. Starts to smell like salt and warm breezes and sweat, there's no fresh air, or the smell of fresh pine or morning dew. Niall can't face the look on Harry's face if he said anything though, wouldn't be able to bear it himself if he left Harry here on his own.   
  
They serve Yorkshire tea here but it doesn't do anything to curve the deep bit of yearning of home for Niall like it does to Harry. And sometimes Harry's hit with the realisation that Niall has always been a home away from home, never had that reassurance of belonging or origin. But then Niall laughs, head tipped backwards so his pale neck is revealed, slightly bronzed in the heat, eyes squinted shut so those eyes stay hidden from the world for mere seconds. Harry finds that time doesn't stop but almost slows down, so he can observe the movements of Niall like a snapshot running quickly until time catches up and the moments over but in Harry's mind it keeps replaying for days.   
  
There's a boy at the counter this time not the usual girl with the blond pony and plain brown eyes- _sandy or something?_ \- the one whose always flirting with Harry and twirling her hair around her polished nails in that insufferable way. Harry can't say he's not glad, the boy is nothing short of beautiful. Cropped black hair, and scruff that sits along his sharp cut jaw line; on anyone else it'd be unpleasant but Harry finds himself wanting to have that tickly jaw beneath his legs in the most innocent way possible.   
  
'Two portions of fruit pancakes please?' Harry smiles reading the boys’ name tag _Zayn_  which has an exotic feeling running through Harry’s veins, whose perching his elbows on the counter and leaning forward to display the large moth tattooed on his chest. Zayn looks uninterested, eyes boring into the old fashioned cash machine as he waits for the receipt to print. Harry just keeps that irredeemable smile on his face like a plaster.

‘$6.20, please?” His accents slow and deep with a tinge of familiarity, and Harry gawps at him a little because he’s seen plenty of hot guys round these ends, all lean figures and coppery skin and dark eyes, but never have they been British.

‘Where’ve you been hiding?’ Harry says a grin splattering his face only getting wider as he shakes around his short pockets for change. Harry can tell the boy is getting frustrated, he hears the jingle of the bell behind him and knows that another customer has joined the queue, but Harry can’t find it in himself to care.

The boy stares at him blankly. ‘Hiding where?’ And now he’s holding Harry disposable tupperware of pancakes in his left palm, his right palm shaking softly as he waits rather impatiently for Harry to count out his dollars.

Harry hands over the money, pouring it into the boy’s hands with a clatter like they’ve both got time to spare to just amble around.

‘You’re from England right?’ Harry’s saying because he can’t help himself, and because the boy has eyelashes that look so impossibly long right now, and Harry feels the urge to knee up onto the counter and rip open the boys impeccably white vest top and pour the maple syrup that’s drizzled on his pancakes all over his collarbones.

Harry manages to restrain himself before the boy answers, tone rigid like a warning. ‘Yeah, okay? I’m from Bradford, now _please?_ We have other customers waiting.’ The girl behind Harry in an unsatisfyingly small bikini clears her throat, pushing past Harry and pushing out her breasts as the boy serves her.

Harry still leaves with a small smile, because Zayn looked just as disgusted at the girl. 

*

Niall wakes up alone that morning, craning his neck with a groan to look at the clock on the bedside table: 10:46 A.M.  
  
Harry's probably gone for a walk or a swim or a talk. Always finding someone new to talk to, someone new to bring home and kiss in the shadows whilst Niall stays on the balcony with a bowl trying to ignore the breathy moans or girlish cries. Niall is usually alright if they're gone by the morning and not lying next to Harry; curled into his chest and wrapped around his hip like Niall should be.  
  
Harry's impossibly addictive in the weirdest of ways, he sort of pulls you in like the tide, quick and rushed, but then his grip is like an iron fist and you can't escape but at the same time you don't want to. Niall has never met anyone that hasn't immediately liked Harry, fell for his witty tongue or piercing eyes and sometimes Niall gets scared, hopes he falls out of love with Harry before Harry falls in love with somebody else.   
  
Niall gets dressed, burns toast in the toaster and goes for a jog across the sand. There are people everywhere, laughing, talking, and reading. It's immense. And Niall takes a moment to stop and catch his breath at the end of the beach where the sand meets the rocky cliffs to create a dome shape that washes out onto the sea bed. The suns not so harsh this morning, and Niall's thankful because they ran out of lotion just yesterday. He's got change in his pocket, enough to buy an ice tea and maybe a sugar doughnut or whatever, he's hungry.   
  
The diner is open and it's Harry that usually gets breakfast in the morning and Niall tries to ignore the thought that he's probably preoccupied with something or other. It's the dingy one with the ripped red barstools, little metal salt and pepper shaker in every booth beside a napkin dispenser, terribly styled up like the 1950s but Niall thinks it's cute, in an embarrassing way; tries not to look any of the waitresses in the eye in case he was drunk in here the other night.   
  
'Oi!' Someone calls, and Niall's head shoots up from where he's stood counter top eyes flickering from the tiled floor to the pin striped wallpaper. It's a boy behind the counter wearing a white vest top underneath a pink overall with little frills outlining the edges, eyes devilling Niall to make a joke as a soft smirk adorns his red _red_ lips.   
  
Niall breath catches in his throat before he looks away for a moment to clear it. 'Yes, I'd like a peach ice tea and a jam donut please?'   
  
'Long way from home, Irish,' the boys quips easily, his pink tongue running over his soft looking lips and Niall wonders how many times somebody can possibly lick their lips within the space of a few seconds.

'You too English,' Niall replies and with a blink the boy’s face breaks out into a large grin, teeth glinting in the sun wolfishly and hair falling over his forehead, making Niall want to reach over the counter where he's just placed his bottle of drink and his paper wrapped donut to shuffle it back with his fingers.   
  
'That'll be $2.30 and your phone number please?'   
  
Niall's taken aback by the question because sure, Harry's fucked a couple of guys and girls he picked up at bars all over the west coast, but never has it lasted any longer, never has he dated anyone or let them stay over for more than a shower, cup of cold tea and a peck on the cheek. He calls himself a simple lad in that respect, hello, _fuck yeah_ , goodbye.   
  
Niall on the other hand has never dated anyone, never liked anyone in that way; just never had the need. Always had Harry, Harry had taken every single one of his firsts, his first kiss, his first love. Though neither label the other, they are more than friends, more than best friends; for _god’s sake_ Niall travelled 5000 miles to fulfil Harry's wish of waking up to the beach and it's rolling waves.   
  
'Sure.' And the words roll of Niall's tongue quicker than he can think, like an impulse, like a glitch of his vocal cords. He smiles with intent at the boy though, he doesn't regret it as he scruffily jots down his number on a napkin with a pen that the boy handed him. He collects his doughnut and drink with a wink using the confidence that now seems to drool out of him.   
  
'Zayn. Me names Zayn.' The boy says, smiling impishly and Niall nods almost dumbfoundedly in reply taking a sip of his ice tea before making his way out of the diner without another look back. And its only because he'd scared that he has turned crimson from his collarbones to the tips of his ears, and the air conditioning was blaring, so that can't be his excuse.

*  
  
Niall sits back on the beach that night just thinking. He likes the beach at night, loves it in fact. The stars glimmering like crystals against the flat black sky like a tarpaulin spread across the universe and stopping Niall from seeing any further; from seeing the floating galaxies and spinning planets. He was lying to himself all this time really, he has been asked out on the whim by good looking guys before, but tends to forget about them once Harry strolls into the picture. Harry has a knack for making things like that, tying the string that holds up Niall's world on his finger and spinning it until it's out of control.  
  
Niall can't complain really, it's not like he ever tries to stop Harry or anything, he accepts everything that's thrown at him with a smile that eventually gets a little worn at the corners but mostly stays intact. Zayn's probably looking for a little fun, he's pretty, Niall knows that much while observing him for those few minutes; brown eyes, dark hair and long eyelashes with a unshaven, rather rough-looking jaw.

Niall knows it's nothing serious, they might text here and there, go for a swim or a drink and then it'll fade out like the camp fires that people light on the beach and dance around drunkenly, they're always smoky embers by the end of the night. 

* 

(Niall doesn't remember falling asleep on the beach. But he wakes up in their shared bed with sleep tracks down the left side of his face and morning glare on his right. There is a note sat beneath a plate of scrambled eggs on the empty side of the bed where a warm body normally lies. Harry's gone to catch some rays, but Niall wonders when Harry's going to start craving rain.)   
  
Harry's unusually quiet as they lay back on the beach, Niall has learnt not to fall asleep on his back anymore; being humiliated with a sun cream penis usually does the trick.   
  
'Where'd you go yesterday?' Niall asks, avoiding Harry's stare to take a sip from the beer that he dug a little pot hole in the sand for. That's another reason why he hates California, for its pissy beer. There's not a pub in sight he mused when they first arrived and he overlooked the beach with Harry smiling like gold beside him, there are 26 in Mullingar.   
  
Harry shrugs, a soft movement of his shoulders that leaves Niall staring at the way his skin stretches taut over his collarbones. 'Went to a surf shop near Venice Beach, met a guy called Lou. He invited me out to a bar on Friday. He's from Doncaster.'   
  
Niall nods silently, for the way that Harry worships this place he seems to have a special spot for British guys around here, says he likes the sun on a homely bloke. Likes the way they talk and dress, but likes them to appreciate the California injection of sun. Niall can't seem to agree when they're rubbing sleep from their eyes and walking out half-naked from their bedroom at three in the afternoon; can't seem to see the appeal.   
  
'Cool. Yorkshire bloke," Niall says knocking back on his elbows and pulling his ray bans across his face to hide the way his eyes discolour at the thought of Harry holding hands with someone else. Harry does the same and their elbows brush for a mere second and Niall waits for the magical mythical fireworks to happen, he knows it doesn't happen, but be likes to play it up a little for his heart.   
  
They stay on the beach for half the day, occasionally taking breaks to take a dip in the ocean and taste the familiar salt across their tongues. The sun a blazing boulder in the sky, and Niall swims out a little further than Harry who is only thigh deep gazing out onto the sand where people are constantly mingling about. Niall swims until his arms feel the burn and his feet feel miles from the bottom and there is just a little hint of unknowing about everything. This is maybe what he likes the best, the wide expanse of ocean and the faintest sound of silence if he closes his eyes and zones out, muting his emotions for just seconds. He likes the feel of the cooler ocean simmering up to his shoulders and he burning sun on his shoulders, likes the difference.   
  
'Niall!' Harry calls from where he's standing at their beer bottles marking their spots on the sand by the life guard. He's running the towel over his skin and waving about with his other hand, squinting just a little at the sun glare as he tries to make out Niall wading about in the sea. Niall doesn't say anything back, doesn't even start to swim back, just appreciates Harry in his little yellow shorts as he runs the red towel over his long legs and gleaming torso.   
  
  
Sometimes Niall worries about Harry taking off somewhere else with another friend he makes, to curb that wave of wanderlust he feels about every place. New York and its skyscrapers, France with art work, Italy with its culture and food. They are sat on their bed together with a bowl between their knees, Niall takes a long drawn out hit and closes his eyes and imagines the soft worn cushions of his bed back home, the smile he receives in the morning when he buys a pint of milk from the corner shop and his warm fireplace that washes away the shivers of cold that stick to his skin when he comes in from work on a windy day.   
  
The buzz of the drug sticks to his skin in that same way, relaxing the static muscles in his neck and making his eyelids feel heavy and droopy. Like a warm fireplace on a Friday night when you've just finished a shift working on the cashier desk at a bustling coffee shop. Niall's not going to deny anything at all, he dreams of home _far_ too much for it not to be some sort of withdrawal; his head throbs at the thought and he can feel the blunt against his fingernails because Harry's passing it over to him, it's his hit.   
  
Niall sits up so quickly he should have whiplash, but he doesn't. Harry smiles slothfully at him, blowing smoke through his nose and turning to face the open balcony door where the curtains are billowing from wind.   
  
'S'beautiful right?' Harry mumbles lazily his eyes focusing on the sun that's dipping below the horizon, drifting pinks oranges and yellows in the sky slowly dissolving like air. Harry mellows out after the sun retreats beneath the line of the ocean, because then this place sort of becomes like everywhere else, and _okay_ , there's an ocean that rolls and tastes like salt but Harry had never seen the sun shine so bright before he came here, never had it tattooing his skin every day over and over again with heat. Niall noticed this on their first night in Cali, the way that the tide came in and the sun sank down, and Harry stopped smiling like a millionaire all wicked and wide and frowned just a little, eyebrows peeking together and eyes creased at the corners. It's been like that during the nights ever since.   
  
Harry falls asleep hair tickling Niall's chin where he's slumped over onto his shoulder snoring soft and deep like everything's drained from his body. Niall just listens, trying to distract himself by staring out of the window at the stars in the sky and telling himself that his future is up there; his future patterned out and then halting to an end because he had always seen himself dying oddly. Distracting himself doesn't work and after a few seconds he gives into Harry like he always does even though the boy is basically dead to the world, curling his hand around his hip and letting him snuff his face into the space between his head and neck where it's warm. Tonight Harry's quieter than usual, not muttering the usual nonsense he does, the conversation’s Niall secretly recalls in the moments when Harry ignores him, he's just breathing soft into Niall's neck and he's thankful that Harry can't see or feel the shiver it creates each time exhales.   
  
His mother used to say that Niall was a strange sort of child, too quiet and too shy and too used to how own shadow, and it was true. When he was a kid he wouldn't hang outside the recs with a skateboard or jog round to the footie fields with a ball; he'd wander around the disused water reservoir with his head in the clouds and his thoughts soaring around the stars. His 15 year old heart would thump against his rickety rib cage when he'd think about travelling the world with a backpack filled with old sentiments, or taking Olivia O'Brien to the prom with a smile that wasn't crooked and a laugh that wasn't awkward and loud. Olivia O'Brien refused him three weeks later, sat on the teacher’s desk before he came in at the bell, legs crossed and skirt taut against the flesh of her thigh that Niall wanted so badly to touch. She sent him one of those sad brown stares, one that's open and wide but not regretful, and Niall wanted to run far away and let his skin burn somewhere else when he saw that same pity he'd seen everywhere else.   
  
After that the years seem to be doodled away with years in the back of the classroom, only stuttering when the teacher called on him randomly and everyone would turn on him with eyes of remembrance of past years, of damn that boy exists. But then he got an acceptance letter to a university in London alongside accommodation, and Bobby had been so unbelievably proud that he stood still for a while in their kitchen with the stove steaming just crying; but Niall didn't say anything, just rang up his mother and told her the news in that same slightly bored maybe anxious voice. Neither of his parents were worried about him though, far too used with coming home to find him staring out of the window and watching the rain dribble down rather than sat on the sofa swearing at a referee like Greg, they knew something was going on his mind but whatever it was it was dug too deep for them to try and search.   
  
Goodbye came easy to him when he left home, gave his mum a hug and tried to ignore the tears filling her eyes, made promises he wouldn't keep to ring home every week, went to a football match with his brother and tried to chant along with the crowd but couldn't _get into_ the game like he used to, it was like his mind left before his physical being. But then he was actually gone, heading down to Dublin on a train where he'd then catch a flight to Heathrow, and then _what?-_ he thought, couldn't just be that easy to leave, had he just done it? It wasn't like he didn't like it, living at home with his dad and Greg, it's just there was always a constant thought running around his head- _you'll leave this place one day_ \- and he would find himself lying in bed just thinking about that rainy Sunday morning when he would pack his bags and just leave.   
  
After that, after he'd moved in and got settled and gone to class, everything dawned on him that he may not ever go back and maybe he regretted never saying goodbye or regretted not giving his mother a warm enough hug and holding her small body tight and whispering how she had been the best mam ever; and then maybe he went searching for home like a stranger in London. It was weird at first, the darkness that greeted him at home when he was maybe a little drunk or maybe a little dizzy and tired and sick of the thought of cold chips and coke again, but he could never find the energy to pick up the phone or reply to the dozens of unread text messages on his phone.   
  
 _From Greg: Dads asking when you'll visit?_    
  
Harry had stumbled into the greying picture of his life by mistake, walking in with a paintbrush and shiny acrylics and covered up the whites and blacks of Niall's life like it hadn't even existed in the first place. If Niall could ever swear on anything it was that he fell in love with Harry the second he met him, the way he stood by the toilet cubicle with his pointy brown boots and wide white toothed grin like a cat, _-"y'alright mate?"-_ and Niall had tripped over his own two feet at the sound, and he was never a lightweight _not ever_ , he was fucking Irish, but he wasn't a shot type of guy; so after seven or eight he maybe was chucking up in the bathroom.   
  
It was a strange sort of friendship because Harry texted him all the time so much in fact that there were blackberry key prints indented into his thumbs, and Niall replied shortly like he didn't care but he really did, but he was an insecure fuck who thought with one wrong move that Harry would run away towards the hills and regret their shady kisses on the corner of mouth when they were both drunk off Jack Daniels and having strange thoughts in the back of a black cab, or that one time when they ran naked across Niall's dorm corridor because they felt like the breeze in the right places and Harry was a little bit tipsy an giggly and curious; and Niall was just willing.  
  
Nobody thought they'd be the ones to be friends, because nobody really knew Niall and everyone knew Harry- _hi mate? How's Nick? Coming to Liam's party? -_ And Niall became Harry’s sortofmaybenotreally date to these strange events with people he didn't know who talked about things that he didn't care about. But Niall just liked the way Harry laughed at their stupid jokes and drank way too much so that by the fifth beer it was dribbling down the side of his jaw and he'd wipe it away with the cuff of his green sweater that Niall borrowed last week. And then they'd get a cab home or the bus when they felt like stopping off at McDonald's to sober up with a vanilla milkshake with the twenty pence pieces of change jingling in their holed jeans; and Niall liked the way Harry begged, pleaded for him to stay over and snuggle with him under cold sheets that warmed up with drunken breaths and shuffling limbs. 

*

Niall frowns just a little when Harry walks into their little living area slash sleeping area because they basically live and sleep in a shack covered with crummy dishes and random bottles of hairspray in the most inconspicuous places. He's carrying a frying pan and two forks, and Niall know it's his famous egg fry up with all the greasy bacon and sausage trimmings and he's counting back the months in case it's his birthday, because what brought this on?  
  
'Breakfast?' Niall says and Harry shrugs in a way that makes Niall not question him again, a way in which his shoulders are tight and in a way that's distracting because a line of golden skin at his navel is revealed as he shuffles around on the other end of the couch. The pan is on the coffee table and Niall can see the steam and can see the salt and pepper sprinkled all over the eggs, and he toes Harry in the back of his upturned knee because pepper makes eggs taste shit.   
  
'Shuddup douche, eggs were born for pepper,' Harry says trying on a smile for size, and Niall can't even bark a laugh because he looks too glorious to be true; hair pulled back into a tight pony tail with a rubber band which leaves a few short swirly curls fanning around his face, and his hair looks wet from his recent fail at surfing. And, _yeah_ , Niall thinks he looks glorious in those little yellow shorts which are tight around his normally flat backside giving him some semblance of the soft curve of an arse, and Niall doesn't hide his pride, hands sitting in creases of his tanned upper thighs and Niall wants to touch like Olivia O'Brien.   
  
Except he doesn't because Harry's pulled the pan between their touching knees leaving it stove warm on their thighs, and is popping open the yolk with a stab of his fork and dragging the pieces of bacon through the yellow puddle and letting it dribble around the corner of his chin and fall onto the soft curve of his tanned stomach as he curls into himself to eat. Niall watches with non-intended fascination but he knows Harry wants him to look, so there's no harm in doing what is expected of him; and Harry would never deliberately put on such a show for no reason.   
  
Niall stares until Harry's eyebrows raise in questioning but Niall smiles a villainous sort of smile that has Harry reciprocating the same back like they've had practiced like a script over the years, _are you ready? are you sure? I'm going to kiss you now?_ , and he leans forward digging the pan unintentionally into Niall's thigh through his worn boxers and getting yolk on his white vest top, but he doesn't care. Niall curves his hand across his jaw trying to remember the time when Harry’s jaw wasn't so sharp and so structured, tries to remember a time when Harry didn't spin his world out of gravities pull and make him want more and more until the neediness wears away.   
  
When he pulls back Niall whines deep in his throat, wriggling his fingers against Harry's shoulders like he's searching for a fictional collar to grab onto and pull Harry into another toe curling warm tongued kiss.   
  
'Eager aren't we?' Harry laughs something breathy against his lips before pressing a few more dry kisses there that don't at all fill the pit of deep want that's filling Niall's stomach, like water flooding into his lungs and choking his breath out. He stands up after that picking up the now cold food off of the coffee table that's long been stained with the marks of clumsiness; and Niall pretends to smile like he hasn't just been snogging the life out of his best friend. Briefly wondering when this whole thing went from relatively platonic to verging on a relationship status _way past_ friends with benefits.   
  
Niall shuffles himself back into his daily routine after that morning encounter and decides to head out grocery shopping because all they have in their fridge is week old milk and a few lemons. The supermarket is a taxi ride away and is a huge Walmart store filled with everything imaginable and even things Niall didn't expect; and god did Niall misinterpret the idea that the best weed was in California thought it was maybe Brazil or Cuba or something. But _no_ , arriving here by the beach there are underground stalls everywhere selling grams upon grams of the best marijuana around, with so called medicinal purposes; if Niall's serious he just likes getting high and watch everything blur out.   
  
It's no surprise however that he spots Zayn amongst the crowd in Walmart, sees him retreat from the bathroom with a conspicuous brown paper bag in his left hand and Niall knows it's Andy, he's the most reliable guy round here to buy it from, always has the best THC sources with new strands popping up every week. Niall goes in after him, of course, waits until he rounds the corner of the poultry aisle before swooping into the bathroom. Andy's stood by the bathroom stall and he hardly acknowledges Niall except with a nod of his head that hardly scrapes by as polite; Niall gets on with the deal not knowing precisely what Andy's whispering about when he says it's a new strand from a new grower, but he doesn't care, just wants to get high on the beach tonight maybe let Harry come along.   
  
He's walking down the bread aisle when he sees Zayn again, ray bans perched on the edge of his nose as he scrutinises the ingredients on a packet of pitta breads. They hadn't texted today but that hadn't meant they hadn't texted at all, since a week ago they've texted about forty times back and forth back and forth about absolute random shit. Niall has actually enjoyed himself though, found that he could tell Zayn anything, including crying on Monday night at 1am on the phone when Harry revealed that he hooked up with yet another person.   
  
Niall had known something was up as soon as Harry had walked into the bar with a dazed smile on his face and an extra step in his walk, Niall had seen this look before of course not one of love or happiness but a mere thought of pleasure of having gotten off. Of course Niall had seen it before he'd many a times been in front of Harry on his knees receiving the same smile and soft eyes in his direction.  
  
"Lou sucked me off in the back of his roommate’s mustang convertible." Niall hadn't known who Lou was at first but then remembered that Harry had met some guy named Louis in a surf shop by Venice beach; he just thought it was something he talked about to fill in the awkward air between them. "He's real nice but told me I was had to get into American lingo. Apparently I'm a posh prick." He had said talking with his hands, a smile still plastered on his face like the sun in the sky. Niall knew Harry would never completely change, even back in London he was the posh prat from Cheshire with too many manners, when half drunk in a South London nightclub he never forgot to say please to the bartender and thanks to the scantily dressed couple emerging from the bathroom keeping the door ajar for him. And he reminded Harry of all these times as they drank piña coladas and sat facing each other on the barstool knees barely touching. When Harry pushed him up against his bed that night he wondered where those lips had previously been and saved his tears for afterwards, when Harry would be asleep.  
  
Despite all the personal and dirty trashy secrets that Niall had revealed over the past week he still blushes when he sees Zayn, quickly turning on his heel and hoping that he can maybe grab a pint of milk on that way out and forget all the other random snacking shit.   
  
'Niall Horan?' Zayn's saying and Niall wants to roll his eyes at his absolute failure when the sharp of his elbow caused cereal boxes to topple down onto the squeaky floor and cause a huge racket.

*  
  
Zayn's high, because of course Niall's agreed when he pulled out a blue bong from his leather jacket. The completely flying amongst the clouds with no gravity pulling him down or coals to his feather feet, sort of high. Niall loves the way he looks, sucking in the roach like an expert and holding it in until it must burn against his lungs and letting it out without even a hitch, showing off by creating little hoops that are genuinely amazing to equally as off his head Niall, who doesn't even scoff.

The back of the toilet is digging into his lower back as he's being hoisted up with Zayn's fingers teetering on his arse like asking for permission but Niall's too busy clawing at Zayn's back like he's in pain, body almost losing control of itself as they rut against each other with no other purpose than pleasure. It reminds them both of the meaningless sex they had in Uni with girls who liked the lights out, guys willing to spread it like sluts, no feelings or stupid thrumming of the hearts, just sex.   
  
Niall's groaning hot and heavy in Zayn's ear the toilet cold against him where he's shucked down his basketball shorts over his arse, but Zayn isn't giving him any seconds to breathe in the air that's hot around them like fog; just keeps rolling his hips in a dirty way that has Niall's throat catching.

'C'mon just ... just...' Niall's begging, whether it's for Zayn to hurry up and let his orgasm rip over him or for Zayn to get his lips on his because he's scared of crying out too much, he doesn't know.   
  
Zayn's knees fail him at the last hurdle when both are sloppily rocking against each other in urge of release, little _ah ah ah ah's_ bursting into the air and making Niall's scramble at the slippery tiles behind him and arch his back in a way that means his body has lost all control of itself. They slide off the toilet a little because it's never as elegant as either of them wish it to be, Niall's legs rounding Zayn's waist to keep him in place, giggling into each other's hot mouths when they jolt further onto the seat and groaning at the bruises probably forming on their arses. Niall likes the way Zayn looks when he comes, teeth dug into his bottom lip and eyes scrunched and closed like he's stopped breathing for a moment; finds himself comparing it to how Harry's all wide eyed and open when he's on the brink of all desire.   
  
They topple around the store after that, laughing at everything stupid and nonsensical like high schoolers who are skiving school; it's like they've completely forgotten about fucking in the bathroom, mere minutes ago. Picking up packages of foods with funny names and throwing them into the baskets hanging over their arms, other customers looking at them with widened eyes as they slip and slide on the floor seeing which one of them can make it the furthest without falling. After a half hour both are possibly drained from such energy and feel the need to just leave the store and maybe do something productive; no such thing happens as Zayn lights a cigarette outside and proceeds to ask Niall questions.   
  
'You,' he says blowing out smoke to the left, because he's not that rude, 'came to California right?'  
  
Niall just nods at first leaning back against the bricked wall that's surrounding the supermarket car park, out looking onto a disused skateboard almost dusty with the glare of the sun. 'I came about five months ago with a mate, s'alright round 'ere wouldn't recommend it.'  
  
Zayn laughs because it's true, _goddamn_ is it true, you grow up in the drizzly towns in England and everything seems mind-numbing. And you look at America and its sun drunk west coast and it makes you smile as you dream in the middle of a travel agents where you've escaped to before your next shift at the coffee house. 'How'd you pay for it?'   
  
Niall laughs because it's actually a funny story, Zayn doesn't look at him weirdly just with a sort of fond silence you use when you think you've gotten under the thin skin of another person.   
  
Niall clears his throat twisting his foot in the direction of the shade, for no reason than to occupy his body while his mind occupies memories that have faded at the corners like dated polaroid’s.   
  
'I took a gap year my second year, told me parents an' they weren't that bothered cause I got in on a scholarship and shit. Then got a job working at an old Irish pub off campus, real nice fella was the owner, Paul he was called. Yeah, so, I jiggled around me shifts and worked around my classes but then I got a check in the post from me' man and dad. Feckin' three grand man, I started crying and shit, cuz' my childhood weren't bad I just struggled with,' he shrugs softly after a few seconds to make up for the words he can't say, but Zayn understood. 

‘Wanna come back to my place?’

*

 

Zayn's apartment is nothing like Niall would've thought, it's light and open like a huge expanse of air filled with only the bare essentials. Niall would be inclined to say he disliked the space since he is used to the cluttered mess of the shack in which he hibernates; but he likes it. It's not really Niall's thing, going back to someone's house for coffee, but apparently it's imported from Columbia and the look that Zayn gave him was so pleading he couldn't help but say yes.   
  
'That's my roommate. Lou,' Zayn says with a rattle of his keys in the vague direction of a boy shoved up on the side of the leather couch laptop in hand. And Niall knows immediately, and it affirms the idea in his head that Harry really does get around, and Harry really does know everyone. Lou is pretty, very pretty and Niall would not expect any less because only Harry lets pretty people get on their knees for him.   
  
'Go to Stanford, studying economics at the mo,' Louis answers Niall's question around a mouthful of Scottish shortbread that Zayn found in their cabinet as they cosy up on the couch and watch old re-runs of friends and drink that famous coffee he was raving about. It's been a couple of hours and there are a few texts on his phone from Harry, but Niall feels comfortable where he is; sat shoved into the space between Zayn's arm and the back of the couch. It's weirdly intimate in a way that living with Harry should be but just isn't. They do sit on the couch and watch television but it's usually programmes that neither of them are interested in or try and phoney a laugh at.   
  
Now is maybe the wrong time to come a sense of realisation about the fact that Harry had left himself back at home, recreating a new self here in the sun. Niall admits to this and with Zayn laughing eyes wide and head throw back and Louis' cold toes digging into his side of his thigh he forgets it for a moment.   
  
'You know Irish. I like you.' Louis says after another episode of friend’s finishes, and Niall's still belatedly laughing at Joey's attempt at French. It's been fun, the whole new making friend’s thing, something new he can't remember ever trying; although he can't really call Zayn a friend because he's sure fucking in a toilet at Walmart crosses some sort of line. And perhaps he finds himself feeling a little bit guilty because he now realises he should have done that with his and Harry's friendship, taken it out of that category and put it under unnamed and unsearched. The TV settles on low in the background as Louis turns himself towards his laptop and types in rapidly whilst Zayn is staring at him owlishly from the entrance to the front room. 'Another cuppa?'   
  
Niall nods, even smiles just a little.

*  
  
'Where the fuck you been?' Harry crows with a beer in his left hand, his eyes trained on Niall who’s wearing a white sweatshirt and jeans that aren't even his. Niall blinks away the icy looks he's getting, known Harry long enough for him to know how an argument begins and how it will end, at least he thinks he does.   
  
'Out.' Niall replies shortly, coldly. Because Harry should have no say at all, he went out to the store, fucked a guy in the bathroom then went back to his house for coffee. It's not like Harry has been so innocent. And it's not rare that they have a misunderstanding.   
  
'Goddamn it Niall, you didn't reply to any of my texts!' Niall ignores him completely because he's got that sullen look on his face as he takes another sip of his beer, the one he always adopts when he's got no solid argument to fight.  
  
They settle down after a while, in front of the television watching a random infomercial about powdered make up, and Niall feels like mentioning that he met Lou today, wants to put Harry in an uncooperative position and see how he'll react plus he knows his internal thoughts make him seem like more of an enemy than a friend- but he's a little _more_ than curious. He doesn't though, finds it strange enough that Harry leans over to kiss him softly like an overdue apology before leaving for bed way before his typical sleeping time.   
  
Harry lies in bed for a while listening to Niall shuffling around the kitchen and the noise of metal pans moving and stoves clicking, and he's probably frying an egg because that's about all they have that's edible in their fridge since Niall completely forgot about his shopping duties. He tries to fall asleep and tosses and turns for minutes that seem stretched long like hours in the darkness, but in the end he's sprawled out like a starfish when Niall comes into the room. Again Harry doesn't hesitate to shuffle into his back and palm up the bend of his spine beneath the white vest top he's wearing, and his fingers are cold.   
  
'I saw Louis today, the blow job in a mustang guy.' Niall says in low voice that settles in the air long after he's said it. Harry only hums a response, stays where he is and forces his eyes shut so that impending sleep washes over him quickly.   
  
Niall lays there thinking for hours.   
  
Niall blinks awake owlishly in the morning, sun barely peeking through the curtains and cold air filling up the space to his right. He knows that Harry has either gone out or is watching shitty TV shows as usual. It makes a little pit of nervousness bubble into his stomach at the thought of seeing him. Nothing happened last night, there was no weird make up sex between them, but Harry was crowded up against Niall's space incredibly close, past the invisible line they have on the white sheet that just _shouldn't_ be passed.   
  
Harry's not doing either. He's sat at the breakfast bar hands curled around a steaming mug of hot lemon tea, _Niall's_ hot lemon tea, and he hates the stuff so Niall thinks of checking his temperature. They don't talk, Harry feels like the awkward one even though he was sat here first and Niall was the one who came in and plopped himself opposite him and proceeded to eat burnt toast.   
  
'I fucked someone in Walmart yesterday.' Niall says, and he's been thinking about it so much since he came home that he's surprised it had taken this long to reveal itself.   
  
'Who?' Harry says after a few seconds of silence as he tries to swallow it all down, averting his eyes to scratch at the marble counter top with his teeth-bitten nails. He can't possibly be jealous, he deserves it for the amount of times he's brought back one night stands and not hidden the evidence; Niall deserves it at least. But it doesn't stop the plummeting of his heart into his lungs.   
  
'A boy I've been texting for a while now, met him by chance--and you know...' But Harry doesn't know. He’s walking on glass right now trying to figure this out and he wants a name, _any name_. Because if Niall's got a name it means it might just be serious, a name is committed to memory and those memories are filed away and Niall always remembers; Harry's learnt this over the years.   
  
Harry looks at him blankly for a while, watching the way Niall bites into his toast and wipes his buttery fingers against his white shirt. The room has suddenly turned foggy with something that's not tension but sadness of some sort, and it's absolutely fucking ridiculous Harry thinks, but he wants to cry. Wants to let the salty water drain over his face because this imaginary promise that Niall was supposed to keep has been broken, Harry's a selfish bastard and always thought Niall would be the one to count on at the end of the day, the one to go home with and lay together with.   
  
'He was called Zayn, alright? Niall whispers, moving his plate to the side and taking one of Harry's shaking hands in his own as he tries to hold the tears at bay but they're already leaving tracks down his face. Niall just stares out of the window behind Harry, past the girls running on the beach in bikinis and to the rolling ocean and blinding sun, before drawing little circles in the lines of Harry's palm; the shaking doesn't subside for a while.

*  
  
Niall can't read Harry at all, doesn't know whether to tread carefully in case it upsets him. It's spectacular as they walk across the beach that night, some sort of finality ringing through air as the sun disappears beneath the horizon; though Niall will deny it, he really does love it round here and it may not be home but it's enough. They've been silent for far too long, and it definitely is that awkward sort of silence that sits in the air like density that refuses to leave. Niall can't stand it, cracking his fingers backwards as they head towards the edge of the beach, their trainers ditched in the sand somewhere so the grit digs into their toes.   
  
Harry turns to Niall when they reach the end of the beach, the tide too far in for them to cross and neither feel like treading back with soggy jeans.   
  
'Was it good?' Harry asks with a little petulance that he thinks he deserves in this instance. Niall laughs lightly not knowing how to respond, because sex is sex, even bad sex is _sort of_ good.  
  
'Yeah it was good.' Niall replies with a nod of his head towards the ground sounding like a typical teenager whose been laid, but he doesn't want to gloat in front of Harry because that's just evil; Harry's much more delicate than he ever realised. 

 *

Two days later and Niall sees Zayn again and this time it's of his own accord, because he wanted to. He leaves Harry sprawled out on the couch that morning, watching some documentary about dangerous truck drivers and eating spicy kernels; he's not been out surfing for a while and it worries Niall but he's feeling rather detached. Zayn might just be a release to the tension, it's selfish and Niall knows this but he wants to kiss someone without it taking away too many thoughts from his brain.   
  
'Hi,' Zayn smiles leaning against the open door of his apartment dressed in a laundry soft cotton shirt and greying sweats that are threadbare and barely sit on his thin hips and Niall automatically loves this cuddly, sleepy Zayn.   
  
Louis' not there. Niall can't really figure out whether he's happy that he's now alone with Zayn in his warm, airy apartment or because he was lying to himself when he told himself that he actually liked Louis.   
  
Zayn's pressing his thumb into the pulse on Niall's wrist as if he's checking that his heart its actually beating, and Niall smiles back soft like Zayn's shirt with the crinkles in exactly the same place. They lay back on the couch, legs bent up against the back rest as they stare out onto the dark star splattered sky that Zayn's large bay window opens out to. Breeze cool and light on his face keeping him conscious whilst his brain seems dead, tired of thinking and pretending. Everything scares Niall a little, something immense seems to be happening with Harry and Niall never realised the repercussions to his actions; actions that were perfectly safe and sane before they happened.   
  
The door opens with a click and Zayn cranes his neck a little to see Louis stride ahead into the soft light of the lamp that sits on the bookshelf by the door, he's got droplets of water dappled all over his light suit jacket and his hair sticks like perspiration to his forehead sticking up in odd directions like he's tried to shake it out like a dog. He's red in the face like he's half amused and half angry, trying to laugh of an annoying run in with an old friend.   
  
'I'm literally fucking soaking!' He cries, opening his arms wide as if to express the enormity of the whole thing, bag dropping to the floor with a clank that both Zayn and Niall hope isn't his expensive laptop.   
  
'Don't you mean figuratively?' Zayn replies clearly unimpressed with Louis' exaggeration of the situation, but Niall is bloody confused because no one runs through a rain storm in California if they did he would probably be out here crying in relief and desperation drinking it up like a thirsty man in the desert, glad that it disguises his tears.   
  
Louis stands still for a moment and flips Zayn a well-deserved bird, not even acknowledging Niall's clear presence as he waggles his legs in the air and lays like a starfish wrapped up in the arms of Zayn, before walking across the room and opening a door that Niall suspects to be his room and slamming himself shut inside; Zayn doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Niall thinks he at least deserved a hello. 

*

Niall doesn't like it when they fall alseep together that night; squashed up together on Zayn's too big bed with little air between them. Niall pressed up against Zayn's ribcage with air breathing into the shell of his ear. Neither of them are drunk so it's sort of awkward when they shuffle about a little in the sheets feeling as though one of them if breathing a little too hard and loud in the quiet expanse of air. Niall wants Harry. Wants to cuddle up close with no tenseness in his limbs, wants to laugh for no reason at all; not even with a joke. Harry would wake him up with morning breath and drag him down to the beach to eat american crisps or they'd put on stupid accents and bundle on those winter coats they packed by mistake going dusty in the wardrobe; they'd walk across the beach looking like absolute prats. Niall wants all that.

*

Niall is breathing hot and heavy like he's a panting runner out of breath, he should be embarrassed but everything's too overwhelming at the moment. Zayn's leaning over him, thin at the waist and hips but his arms are stretched round the broad of Niall's shoulders, and he is looming hot and heavy. His kisses are hard and wet with scraping teeth digging a trail from Niall's ear to the dips of his collarbones. Niall has honestly no idea how they got in this position, but he feels like a pubescent teenager grinding his hips in an upward motion, hips jolting sluttily with Zayn's in every movement.   
  
'You? Ye wanna?...' Zayn whispers in his ear nonsensically, open palms coming down to curve around Niall's thin waist as he readjusts his thighs so they're sitting wide in Niall's lap, bare legs sitting warmly in their shorts. Zayn feels like pressing his face into the junction of Niall's neck imagines him to smell like clean sweat and salt and warmth, wants to tongue at the heat that's bubbling off of him in waves; wants to but doesn't dare to.   
  
Niall nods desperately like he's needy for it, because he sort of is.Zayn leaning on him hips jolting every which way and making his breath jump, the air around them heavy with the leftover heat that stayed stale in the air around them even after it sunk beneath the horizon. 'Hey,' he says concerned, brows furrowed his arms bulging beneath the weave of his thin shirt as he struggles to keep his head balanced and not sink into the skin of a heaving Niall. They're twisted along the hard surface of the leather in a way that melds them together like a web, Niall's fingers twisting into the loopholes of Zayn's unzipped black jeans to drag him forward and kiss him. He's always been good with kissing, it's familiar and warm and feels nice, it doesn't take anything too intimate to be able to press your lips against someone else's and just kiss them; it's easy.   
  
Zayn pulls back feeling dizzy, looking straight into Niall's eyes with an intensity that would make anyone turn away and look somewhere else. However, Niall just holds the look, feels Zayn shuffle back a little away from his grip and loosen his stance so he's not rigid with need.   
  
'I don't wanna be your rebound,' he says, softly with something that Niall has seen before and maybe it hits him a little hard in the chest.   
  
'You're... You're not...,' Niall whispers looking down and twisting his hands in his lap, his fingers scrubbing against each other lightly like he trying to rub away the memories they hold. He wants to lie but Zayn has already seen through all that and he can't. He shuffles back against the couch a little, let's Zayn pull back as well, bracket his thighs in a V shape whilst his own head slams back against the hard of the armrest. Zayn looks at him softly, his tooth biting into his lower lip, and his eyelashes swooped so long in the shadows that Niall wonders whether they feel cakey with mascara.   
  
Neither of them talk, watching The Hangover roll over on the television screen and it's all too loud and too blaring, but perfect to drown out the screaming thoughts.   
  
Niall gets home that evening, it's still dark in the room like when he left earlier in the day, the curtains drawn. Harry's on the couch curled into the fetal position, doing something so familiarly banal, eating ice cream and laughing at Honey BooBoo, that Niall thinks something may have clicked in Harry's brain as well as his own.   
  
He looks up at him and his smile wears down just a little at the corners, but it's still mostly there, dimples pressed loose into his golden cheeks and a peeking of glinting teeth. Niall returns the favour, sliding off his coat and shoes before padding over to Harry and curling into him. Harry's sweater is a little crinkled like he couldn't be bothered ironing it, it doesn't looks bad just lived- in and lazy. They lay together in silence, Niall likes this same sort of domesticity that washes over them; and finds that it's easier to be this close to Harry again. 

*

It's a Sunday and Niall wakes up next to Harry, bedsheets settling low and cool over their waists and Harry's head is turned left under the pillow his breathing mellowed out. He shifts unintentionally to left to shake off the dead weight of his foot and Harry sighs beside him, flipping his head over and pulling at the arm curved around Niall's hip. Yesterday wasn't abnormal in any way, Harry had texted Niall from the grocery store _u and me gna go to a bar tonite_ and Niall had sent back a smiley emoji which was maybe a little too blunt but Harry would get it.   
  
The bar was blaring and loud and after a few coronas Niall was pulling Harry onto the dance floor, _wanna dance?_ on his lips and grinding lazily on his thigh as the bass thrummed through their skin from the nearby speakers. After a few songs, Harry was grinning wide and drunk pulling Niall in close by his hip a sheen of sweat over his forehead. He was half hard in his jeans already but the grin that Niall gave him made him feels less assed about it.   
  
'Let's go toilet?' Harry asked, gripping Niall's bicep and whispering in his ear, drunkenly in a way which his vowels come out too long and his hands roamed a little too close to Niall's arse.   
  
'How romantic,' Niall's saying taking a sip from a random whiskey glass as they skim past the bar on the way to the bathroom, but his shirt is unbuttoned from the bottom because Harry got impatient during the second Dj announcement and his fingers are skimming up the back of Harry's wrinkled Oxford blue button down; feeling the soft sweaty skin along there and the thread of his boxers.   
  
They shove each other round the cubicle, kissing hard like they've got something to prove. It's different than Zayn, Niall notes mentally, less soft and touching. Harry's not even undressed still wearing his shirt unbuttoned as he struggles to take off his cufflinks but Niall's staring at him wide eyed from where he's perched on the toilet seat; bare arse cool against the surface and fingers fidgeting.   
  
Harry pins him down, knocks his head onto the porcelain as he tries to get a kiss in, missing on a wide mark and hitting the edge of his chin in his haste. They move against each other in jerky movements, breathing hot into each other's ears and Harry's so embarrassingly close as he grinds against Niall's naked hip, voice becoming broken as he gets closer. Niall's silent through it, let's the warmth of Harry's orgasm wash over him even when he's still hard against his own thigh.   
  
'Shit,' Harry gasps wetly into Niall's neck, it's meant to be an apology but it never gets all that eloquent with Harry, and Niall simply hums deep in his throat staving off the urge to shove Harry off of him and wank in his face; secretly wants to see Harry's hair dripping with his come. But he doesn't, just slides his hands up and down Harry's clammy back where his shirt desperately needs to be laundered, and runs his fingers through his sweaty hair there, thumbs at the bone at the base of his neck as it protrudes out as he bends over.   
  
'S'alright." He whispers, pressing his cheek against Harry's as the other side of his face is pressed onto his bare thigh, fingernails dragging across the hair there as both stave off the urge to curl in on themselves and sleep. There's a pounding bass line through the thin walls, and everything things seems almost subdued as they get changed but when Niall grabs Harry's cold hand and drags him back through the bar forgetting to pay their tab it almost feels reassuring. 

*

It's raining in London, droplets hitting the surface of their taxi with little pellets that feel like bullets and Niall can't keep the grin off his face as his hands tighten on the door handle, it feels like a welcoming. There's a thunderstorm buried deep in the clouds, and Harry's staring at the greying clouds from beneath his hoodie that he pulled up over his head moments ago; like the rain would fall so hard it'd pour like a waterfall into the car. They landed at Heathrow just past two in the afternoon, it was fairly empty as they got suitcases from the carriages and went through final security checks, but even as the taxi they'd ordered started to blare it's horn loudly; Niall just couldn't stop staring at his surroundings. The cool biting wind that itches his skin through his sweatshirt and the rain that drops from the overhang and slides down the opening of his hood.   
  
They get dropped off near their campus, deciding to head into the city for some supplies for the likely empty fridges and cold wood floorings that wait for them at their apartment. They each share an earbud as they walk through the convenience tesco express, some indie song about a flightless bird; but Niall's smiling so wide it's like he's drugged up, picking up a bottle of blue milk and a batch of brown bread because he misses warming himself up tea and buttered toast. Harry's fairly silent as they stand close together walking through the aisles, hair dripping wet slightly as it's tied back with a rubber band he'd used to decorate his suitcase handle with.   
  
'Clover or Lurpack?' Niall asks, squinting his eyes in concentration as he tries to remember how he used to have his toast, like he hasn't eaten for years. Harry shrugs softly, and Niall sighs, putting the tubs back on the shelf and pulling Harry forward by his hips.   
  
'Haz?' Harry looks up at him, face opening up as he smiles slowly like caramel. Niall leans forward until his earbud falls out of his ear and his hands have travelled to wrap a strand of Harry's hair around his pinkie finger; he kisses him softly like he's not allowed before pulling away and looping his fingers into the belt holes of Harry's worn jeans and leaning back against the glass of the dairy products.   
  
'You alright?' He questions, squinting his eyes and Harry nods in one soft moment before laughing as Niall does the same, nodding quickly until his hair flattens even further against his forehead and his smile replaces the sun that's no longer shining Harry's way.   
  
He pecks him all over his face, with little whispers of you sure? Until Harry's batting him away, grabs his hand and drags him and their meagre groceries towards the self check out where an old lady raises her eyebrow at their golden tans.  
  
Their apartment is cold. But Niall likes the way that the cool tiles feel against his socked feet as he pads around the kitchen, making sandwiches with the bread they bought and the luncheon mean they borrowed from their neighbours who didn't look to happy at their appearance but handed over the Tupperware box anyway. 

  
Harry's lying on his back on the sofa, a pair of earbuds in and an arm thrown over his eyes. Niall's appreciates the sight off him, all cosy and warm-looking in an old knitted sweater and a pair of fuzzy black socks that pull up over his tight jeans. They haven't eaten proper food in a while, only shared a packet of cheese and onion crisps at the airport terminal as they were skimming through the magazine section at Spar, so Niall feels pretty head up on his cooking skills as he pulls out two cheese and ham grilled sandwiches out of the oven. He slices off the burnt edges, and sucks a thumb that got caught in the cheese in his mouth as he decants them on old paper plates he found beneath the sink and walks over to the sofas.  
  
Harry squirms underneath the weight of Niall as he falls back onto his body making sure he has a firm grip on the plate beforehand. Niall shuffles about a bit until Harry's thoroughly annoyed and awake, they shuffle some more until Harry's rib to rib with Niall an arm thrown over the back of the couch and a leg stretched over across Niall's knees as a form of punishment.   
  
'We're home,' Harry declares quietly as he bites into his sandwich, the remote in his left hand as he flicks aimlessly through the channels. Niall nods, crushing the leftover crusts in the plate with his thumb. Harry leans his head over his left shoulder, breathing damply onto the pinked skin there from the many times that he forgot spf45 before laying out on the beach at midday. Niall's hisses quietly and shoves Harry off, giving him a soft glare that turns into a smile somehow.   
  
'We are home.' Niall grins at him grabbing the plate and putting it with a clatter onto the coffee table sticky with age. Harry smiles at him, taking the initiative and shoving Niall not so gently into the space at the other end of the couch. His head smacks against the soft leather and Niall chuckles softly, his fingers fumbling with the collars of Harry's shirt. Harry doesn't help him at all, just hovers above him and smoothes out the creases that appear on his forehead, and then they're both laughing when Niall accidentally knees Harry in the groan.   
  
'You think this'll last?' Niall gasps as they roll down onto the floor just missing the table. Harry frowns a little, snuffing his face into the mountains of Niall's collarbones. He doesn't really know, doesn't even want to make a guess in case it has an effect. So Harry just lifts his head, and leans up to lick into Niall's mouth and if it shuts him up then, well.   
  
*  
  
They formally get back into a routine a few days later. Niall stays home, his classes don't start until October, and tries not to think about how much of a housewife he feels. Harry's bringing in wages, working a few hours here and there at the library or tutoring high schoolers.   
  
'Hey,' Niall says not taking his eyes away from the swivelling princess peach on the screen, his mouth curving up into a smile of concentration at the presence of Harry leaning arms cross against the door frame. He feels a little self conscious with the way that Harry is staring at him so fondly, but he moves from his stature to make home between Niall's open knees.   
  
Niall's lifts his elbows up a little so he doesn't jolt Harry, but then Donkey Kong zooms past him into first place and he really starts to get pissed off. 'When did we first shag?' Harry yawns, hands coming up to curl around Niall's calf. Niall comes to a sudden stop on the track losing his first place position. Heat flushes from his ears to the base of his neck and he feels throbbing. But Harry tilts his head back into the low crotch of his jeans; smiles sheepishly up at him.   
  
'Probably a few months aft a' we met,' Niall sighs, left hand dropping the controller with a soft sound on the couch and thumb peeling back Harry's cracked lips, smoothing over the slick skin there. Harry nods once, the memories already there flooding in like a tidal wave.   
  
'Good shag, that was.' Niall chuckles, and Harry tightens his grip on his knee coming up to finger at the thread of his jeans and the soft curve of his thigh where the seams meet. Usually they'll settle down to watch a movie or something around about now; but Harry is being over fidgety, and Niall has a sixth sense for these things and knows Harry probably wants a shag.   
  
'You wanna shag now, ey?' Niall says, fingers gliding down the front of Harry's shirt and catching against his nipples. Harry grins sleepily up at him, thanking the stars that Niall knows him so well because he can't be bothered with all the foreplay shit. He wants to get straight into the sheets. Niall feels buzzed when Harry gets his hands on him, tugging on the large collar of his shirt and biting at his lips with unnecessary ferocity. They stumble out into the corridor, laughing as they knock against the walls as they kiss and fail to wrench each other's clothes off as they trip over each other's feet.   
  
*  
  
'Yeh, ma. Har-.'   
  
Niall sighs running his fingers through his hair being cut off by another string of his mothers worried sentences; yeah of course his ma will be worried. The last time he rang her was from a pay phone at Santa Barbara, it was a pretty rushed conversation since their flight was boarding in less than an hour and they'd barely made it through rush hour traffic in the sticky California heat.   
  
'No ma, me' classes start in a few weeks.' Harry snorts softly in his medium between too tired to open his eyes and being awake. Choosing to slink closer to Niall until he's breathing against his ribs, lips pressed tight against the soft skin there. Niall tilts his head down and frowns a little at him, Harry is usually spread out like a starfish; all gangly limbs tired from last nights happenings. But his eyelashes are tickling Niall, his arm stretched out across his chest with a fingernail barely scraping against his nipple. Harry sees Niall's eyes scrunch up mid conversation.   
  
'Dad's there, ma why's-'   
  
And he sighs again, he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a little exasperated because unlike Harry, Niall doesn't like long conversations with a phone tucked under his ear; talking to his mother about a new pasta recipes or how to clean dirty laundry and what detergent they used to use back home. Harry used to do that a lot when they were back in America, ring his mum as he curled up on the sofa with a cuppa with forty degree heat slicing through the curtains behind him like a beam of light. It was unconventional to say the least. And Niall didn't like it, decided to text instead; hundreds of messages that cramped up his fingers as he typed quickly before he got into the shower; the little dings of each reply making him drop his head further into the stream of oncoming water. He'd always force himself to reply with a blunt emoji with no meaning or a _get back to you soon._  
  
Niall hangs up and tosses his phone on the pillow beside him, staving the urge to whack Harry over the head with the intensity that he's looking at him; pityingly.   
  
'They're flying down for Christmas this year,' he says, and Harry smiles up at him softly. Sitting up a little, before slinking up over his body in a way that reminds Niall of those big cats on the nature channel. With hair knotted from sleep and bony knees digging path up Niall's legs as makes way up to settle his head beneath Niall's chin, and stuffs his hands underneath Niall's back to keep them warm.   
  
'You tell 'em we dating yet?' And it comes out muffled and warm against Niall's skin.   
  
'Are we?' Niall challenges, lifting up the corners of his lips into a grin.  
  
Harry shrugs a little, jolting them both, a little unsure. And Niall laughs, chest vibrating.  
  
'Course.'


End file.
